A keresés eredménye

The Prisoners' Song

At the thought of the holder
of my love
I feel a delightful
dizziness
 
All blessing
to that rogue
that brings me it
 
I love my guy
because he steals hearts
with his grace and his charm
 
He makes me proud
because there are many (girls) who desire him
and they're left with their desire
 
I was born capricious
and I want him just for
just for me
 
To pluck his love from me
is like plucking
the little petals from a flower
 
I die of joy
when he looks at me
it turns me to jelly
when he sighs
 
If he throws flowers at me
I feel my heart
die of love
 
Because he makes little eyes at me
with them half-closed
very cute and very mischievous
and they say to me, 'Oh, star of my eye,
how, for that little person
I melt and die.'